Salt and Jasmine
Copyright© 2025 by Dilbert Jazz
Chapter 6: Aftermath on the Kitchen Floor
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 6: Aftermath on the Kitchen Floor - Salt and Jasmine is a raw, sensual lesbian romance set in a cliffside lighthouse cottage. Through one pivotal year of storms, panic attacks, art, and jasmine-heavy nights, Susan and Nawana turn fear into fierce, unwavering love. Tender and explicit, it follows two women learning that staying—scarred, terrified, and wholly seen—is the bravest act of all. A luminous celebration of choosing each other, every single day, until staying becomes home.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian Fiction Tear Jerker Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Squirting Caution Nudism
They did not make it back to bed.
The kitchen floor was old pine, worn butter-soft by a century of bare feet and spilled coffee, and it accepted them as gently as any mattress. The tiles were cool against Susan’s shoulder blades; the wool blanket Nawana had dragged from the living-room couch smelled faintly of woodsmoke and cat. They lay half-wrapped in it, limbs tangled, hearts still racing so hard the cats came padding in to investigate the strange thunder.
Moony sniffed Susan’s ear, decided it was unworthy of further attention, and curled against her hip. Juniper chose Nawana’s ankle and began to purr like a small, judgmental engine.
Neither woman moved to shoo them away.
Nawana’s head rested on Susan’s chest, ear pressed just above the scar that no longer felt like damage. Susan’s fingers moved in slow, aimless patterns through Nawana’s hair (still damp from tears, still smelling of salt and sex and the jasmine that had poured through the open window like a third participant).
For a long time, the only sounds were breath, and cat, and the low, steady heartbeat of the cottage itself.
Eventually, Nawana spoke, voice hoarse from crying and from screaming Susan’s name into the dark.
“I used to think,” she said, so quietly Susan felt it more than heard it, “that if I let someone see all of me (really see), they’d leave. My mother did. My father did. Every woman I ever let close enough to touch the edges ... they all left.”
Susan’s hand stilled in Nawana’s hair.
“I’m not them,” she said. Simple. Certain.
Nawana’s fingers tightened against Susan’s ribs, nails pressing half-moons into skin. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s what terrifies me most. That you might stay.”
Susan laughed once (soft, wet, incredulous). She turned her face into Nawana’s hair and breathed her in.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “You’re stuck with me. I have already mentally redecorated our retirement cottage. I know exactly which rocking chair is yours (the one on the left, because you like to watch the sunrise over the cliff). I have named our future dogs. I have picked out the ugly Christmas sweaters we will wear ironically and then unironically. You are not getting rid of me.”
Nawana lifted her head. Her eyes were red and swollen and impossibly beautiful.
“Promise?” she asked, and it sounded like a child asking if the monster under the bed had really gone.
Susan cupped Nawana’s face with both hands, thumbs stroking the tear tracks that still glittered in the low light.
“Promise,” she said, and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth. “Cross my heart and hope to be haunted by your ghost forever if I lie.”
Nawana laughed then (a real laugh, startled and watery and perfect). She dropped her head back to Susan’s chest and let the sound settle into both of them like warm honey.
They stayed on the floor until the candle in the living room guttered out and the moon moved across the window like a slow searchlight. The cats fell asleep. The jasmine kept breathing its sweetness over them. Somewhere far below, a buoy bell rang once, twice, steady as a heartbeat.
Susan felt Nawana’s breathing even out, felt the last of the trembling leave her body. She thought she was asleep.
She was wrong.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.